


What's in a Name

by ardellian



Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:54:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27577489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardellian/pseuds/ardellian
Summary: Sidestep lets his guard down a little.
Relationships: Ortega/Sidestep (Fallen Hero)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 39





	What's in a Name

Trying to get Sidestep to meet up out of the suit had been nothing less than an epic struggle, but here they finally were, settling into a small coffee house overlooking the coastline. Sidestep glares over his oversized sunglasses when Ricardo returns to the corner table. 

"Here you go," he says cheerily, putting the plate down. "One coffee, black, and I got you a slice of cake too." Sidestep shifts his glare to the cake, like it might pull a knife on him. He’d said he didn’t want anything, but Ricardo had gotten it for him anyway—a mistake, maybe? He wraps his bandaged fingers around the cup, though, and pulls it to his chest. 

"This is a terrible idea," he mutters. 

"It's a great idea!" Ricardo replies. "You don't like coming to the office, and this is far better than some alley." He turns on his cheeriest smile, and is rewarded by the tiniest twitch of Sidestep’s lips together with a noncommittal grunt. 

It's fascinating. Ricardo’s not sure he would have recognized this version of Sidestep if they crossed each other on the street, even though he takes off the mask when they’re alone now. In the skinsuit, he looks tall, strong, confident. Now his athletic body is covered by a ridiculously big sweater and baggy pants, leaving an impression of someone lanky and fragile, and the way he hunches his shoulders makes him seem shorter than he is. 

A disguise. He's made it clear that being identified with hero work in any way is the last thing he wants—which is why Ricardo's so happy he agreed to this in the first place. 

"So," he says when Sidestep just stares into his cup. "What should I call you now?" 

"What do you mean?" he replies, perplexed. “You don’t have to call me anything special?” Ricardo laughs at his stumped expression. 

"I just got the feeling that you wouldn’t like it if I started throwing your _usual_ name around when we're out like this." He gestures at himself and the outfit that he spent just a little bit too long picking out. Light blue chinos, pale mustard shirt, gray blazer. Appropriately casual; still looks like he made an effort. "You know my name, isn't it only fair I get to know yours? Finally?" 

"I don't see why that's necessary," Sidestep mumbles, and looks away. His eyes flit over the interior of the shop, scanning for... Danger? Eavesdroppers? 

"I still want to know, though," Ricardo replies and takes a bite of his cake. What he _really_ wants is to get Sidestep into the team, and step one is to crack through this recluse persona. 

"And you always get what you want, is that it?" Sidestep mutters, but then leans back and cocks an eyebrow at him, and something leaks through in that posture, that expression. Something sharp; something Ricardo likes. 

"Sooner or later," Ricardo replies, and winks. 

Sidestep huffs. "I'm not one of your starstruck girls," he drawls, "and if you think I'm about to drop my panties for a drink and a charming smile, then think again."

Ricardo laughs; the idea of Sidestep thinking this is some kind of seduction effort making him flush with embarrassment. He runs a hand through his hair. "Does that mean you're going to make me guess?" he says, ignoring all the implications. 

"I'm not making you do anything," Sidestep snorts, sipping at his coffee, but now with a little smirk playing on his lips.

Ricardo narrows his eyes, and tries to come up with a weird name to guess at. "Fine," he says. "If you're that set on being difficult. I'll just call you Susan."

Sidestep sits frozen for a moment, and then his shoulders start wobbling, a second before laughter rolls out of him in small stunned pieces. Ricardo beams. Success. 

"Really?" Sidestep replies finally, shaking his head, and he removes his sunglasses to wipe his eye. "I'll be Susan, and you'll be the pretty boy taking me out for coffee? If that's how you like it, I guess." 

Ricardo feels the embarrassment hit again, a bit stronger this time. But it's not really like he can backtrack now, not when Sidestep has removed those glasses and the smile that he’s been looking for has finally arrived.

"Well then, _Susan_ ," Ricardo says with a grin that he hopes is casual. "If this is a date, I have to say that you're being rather rude. Haven't even taken a bite of the food I'm treating you to." 

Sidestep rolls his eyes. "Oh, how terrible of me," he says in mock distress. Then his tone drops back to its usual drawl. "Hand me the damn spoon, idiot." He snatches it out of Ricardo's hand easily, and then slaps his nose with it with a tsk.

It's such an unexpected gesture that Ricardo just sits there, blinking. 

Sidestep leans back again, and shoves too much cake into his mouth. "Let your guard down," he says through the chewing, "pretty boy." 

Ricardo just laughs again, and laughs and laughs. He wants to protest, exclaim that he's not a boy—he's the Marshal of the Rangers and definitely older than Sidestep. His mind keeps slipping on that one, though, still, keeps giving Sidestep an age based on his attitude and competence, rather than his looks. 

It’s a struggle to come up with retorts that aren't leaning too far into Sidestep’s overwrought flirting act. It's too much over the top to be sincere, and Ricardo’s been trying to tone down his own. Since they kissed. Since it suddenly became _way_ too real. But then, now and again, there's a gaze that lingers and makes him wonder.

Maybe it wasn’t just adrenaline—maybe Sidestep never mentioned it because he’s just waiting for Ricardo to make a move.

The urge to swipe Sidestep’s hair out of his face comes sneaking up on him, but he doges and offers another coffee instead. Sidestep asks for an extra espresso shot, then changes it to two, and the barista laughs at the order. Ricardo laughs back and the woman behind the counter blushes prettily. 

Sidestep doesn't blush when Ricardo questions his drinking choices. Just a quick shrug. "It makes me feel sharp," is his explanation. Ricardo doesn't say Sidestep might be the sharpest person he ever met. Razor edge, straight to the point, cutting through—

“Miles,” Sidestep says, and Ricardo blinks as his train of thought comes to a halt. Sidestep is looking down at his coffee. “My name’s Miles,” he repeats, quietly. “Miles Becker.”

Ricardo feels a little lighter in his seat, suddenly, and when Sidestep— _Miles—_ glances up at him from underneath his bangs, nervously, all he can do is grin happily. 

_Miles Becker._

_F_ _inally_ —a first little piece to the puzzle of who he really is underneath that suit. 

Ricardo notices, suddenly, that Miles’s cheeks are getting red—he _is_ blushing now, very prettily _—_ and then he pulls his eyebrows deep down and hides his face by taking a demonstrative mouthful of coffee. 

Ricardo chuckles. “Miles, huh?” he says. “Hmm. I think I liked Susan better.” 

Miles freezes for a moment, staring at Ricardo and the smile that’s so wide it hurts his cheeks—and then he erupts into laughter. 

They laugh together—loud enough to turn a few heads—and then when the laughter fades, Ricardo leans on the table and reaches out his hand. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miles Becker.”

Miles looks from Ricardo’s face to the hand and shakes his head. When Ricardo doesn’t withdraw, he rolls his eyes and takes it—warm, calloused, bandaged—with an obvious strength he doesn’t use. “Nice to meet you too,” he says. “Ricardo Ortega.” 

There’s a split second after they’ve stopped the shaking where neither lets go, and there they sit, smiling at each other, holding hands.

When they go their separate ways, Ricardo finds that he keeps coming back to it, and the more he does, the longer the moment seems to stretch out in his memory. Miles smiling; a warm hand in his. 

He rubs his palm. 

Jesus, he needs to stop doing this. It was _one kiss,_ weeks ago, and Sidestep has never as much as acknowledged it even happened. Sure, maybe he _did_ had a bit of a crush—but it was nothing serious; he got it out of his system; there’s no use getting all worked up because he...

He sighs. 

Because he likes Sidestep. A lot. Sidestep is a breath of fresh air; funny, irreverent, wickedly clever. Dangerous. Bit of an asshole, but not in the annoying way. And he likes Miles too, now that he’s finally got to meet him. Maybe it would have been easier if he hadn’t, if he’d found Miles Becker dull, or if this interaction had been awkward and stiff. 

But it wasn’t; he doesn’t. Always when he’s around the man things just... flow. Easy. Everything seems so easy. 

**Author's Note:**

> Something short and silly...  
> I know Ortega is supposed to know Step's name before the kiss, but hey, that's from a flashback so creative liberties allowed! :D


End file.
